


Treacherous

by doomitup



Category: Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Not Beta Read, Shameless Smut, kinda? i guess enemies to lovers works as well as anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25456744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomitup/pseuds/doomitup
Summary: "And I'll do anything you say if you say it with your hands. And I'd be smart to walk away, but you're quicksand." -Treacherous, Taylor Swift
Relationships: Abnur Tharn/Female Vestige
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Treacherous

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so! I haven't written anything in so long, let alone something purely for fun. And I recently had to admit to myself that Abnur Tharn is attractive even if he's infuriating. This was written over the course of many late nights this past week. I hope it's in character since I've never written him before -or Khamira for that matter. In any case, please enjoy this purely indulgent fic!

Being around Abnur Tharn meant two things: lots of alcohol and endless arguments.   
You weren’t even sure if you disagreed with him anymore, his mere presence pissed you off to the point of automatic antagonism. He could mention the weather and you would find a way to prove him wrong on principle. Maybe that made you the immature child he often accused you of being, but to be fair, he excelled at being a huge pain. If you didn’t argue with him, it would be someone else, and why would you deny yourself the pleasure of getting on his nerves?   
Though he had been the one to drag you to Elsweyr, he never stayed in one place for too long. After releasing a hoard of dragons, however, you supposed he would have his hands full. It served him right.   
One of the bright moments had been meeting the feisty Khamira, so if nothing else, you were grateful for that. To say Khamira had a lot going on would be an understatement, but since getting roped into this adventure, you found yourself spending a lot of time with her, venting your frustrations about Tharn together. It was stupid. Fun, but stupid. And it was a hell of a lot better than sitting around, gnawing your nails into bloody stubs because you were never sure when the next dragon attack would take place.   
So that’s where you found yourself, in the rightful queen’s tent, drinking away the hours until you either passed out or got sick. Whichever came first.   
“Hrrm,” Khamira snipped. “Do you know what he had the nerve to ask two days ago?”   
You swallowed a healthy amount of alcohol, relishing the burn, followed by a pleasant sweetness. “Oh, gods, I can only imagine.”   
“He asked me if I ever planned on looking like royalty again or if I was determined to appear as a poor soldier’s wife for the rest of my life!”   
A sound of disgust left your throat. “Ugh, what an ass! As if running around the countryside in fine ancestor silk is going to help! What does he expect? We’re trying to save your kingdom, not present the latest fashion from Summerset!”   
Khamira refilled her glass, the amber liquid sloshing as she set the bottle down a little too hard. “Perhaps he would like to try looking pretty and fighting dragons and dealing with his obnoxious, arrogant suggestions all day long! Not to mention rallying forces and writing even more letters to the Aldmari Dominion and pleading for aid of any kind.”   
“Perhaps he should just try listening to himself talk, maybe then he’d realize how boring he is to listen to,” you rolled your eyes.   
“That’s the problem. He has heard himself speak, and he liked it so much, he decided to go on forever!”   
You let out a long, loud cackle, tears forming as you tried to pull yourself together. “I bet he would fuck himself if he could. At least he wouldn’t have to subject anyone else to that torture.”  
Khamira shook her head. She tossed the rest of her drink down her throat before replying. “Seven wives. Hrrm. Some women must truly be attracted to power to overlook such… shortcomings. Though I find it hard to believe Tharn had enough patience to get married all those times.”   
The flap of the tent pulled to reveal the battlemage himself. For a moment you wondered how much he had heard, then realized he probably heard a good portion given the tightness of his jaw and the way his nostrils flared with each breath. You and Khamira shared a look, clamping a hand over your mouths in a failed attempt to quell the laughter.   
“If you two are done gossiping like bored housewives, I’d like a word with Khamira.”   
You shared a look with the Khajiit, unable to stifle your remaining giggles. “Good luck!” you whispered, giving Tharn a pointed look before swaggering towards the exit. It had been awhile since you stood, causing your balance to be worse than usual, and you clipped the man with your shoulder.   
He exhaled through his teeth. “Go sober up, you smell like a vineyard.”   
“Well I’d rather smell like a vineyard than whatever that swill you call cologne!” you slurred, making a point to hit him with your shoulder again.   
The crisp night air whisked away your giddiness. You stared up at the stars, half awed and half worried a dark shadow would soon eclipse the light and rain fire and death upon the small camp. It struck you just how fragile your little mortal life was and you let out a choked noise, something between a laugh and a sob.   
You took another sip of your drink to calm your nerves. This time you didn’t welcome the burn quite as much. The moons offered very little in the way of light. Finding your way to your bed would be a challenge even if you hadn’t been drinking. A shiver ran through you. You hadn’t realized how chilly the desert could get at night before you came to Elsweyr. The Khajiit were an enduring race indeed to survive and thrive in such a climate.   
Dragons. Gods, you could offer Abnur to Molag Bal himself for that particular stunt. For all his intellect, he should have been a little more cautious. Though for all you knew, his half sister would have found a way to release the dragons anyway. Tharn just sped up the process.   
Part of you almost would rather spend a year in Coldharbour than deal with this. The threat seemed too big, too destructive, too unpredictable to handle.   
“There you are, I was beginning to wonder if you had wandered out of camp.”   
Under normal circumstances, you would have bristled, but your shoulders relaxed at his familiarity. A quick swipe of your fingers under your eyes and no one would be the wiser. “I’m tipsy, not stupid, Tharn. Though seeing as you’re usually both, I can see how you’d get the two confused.”   
The words left your mouth before you could stop them. Ah, well. You had made such a habit of being rude to him, no reason to break tradition now.   
“You seem to have a problem with me. Very well, have at it.”   
Your fingers twitched around your glass as you turned on your heel. “What makes you think I want to talk to you?”   
“Why, I assumed that since you and our dear queen had weekly gossip sessions about me, you have an issue -or several, it would seem. Elsweyr has very few allies to begin with, so if your personal grievances cause you to die, it would be unfortunate indeed for our Khajiit friends. So out with it already.”   
As soon as you remembered the glass in your hand, the idea to toss it in his face crossed your mind. Your intoxicated impulse control -or lack thereof- had your wrist poised to flick the drink when he caught your wrist.   
“Let me go!”   
“I will if you can talk to me like an adult.”   
Your lip curled, trying even harder to break free of his grasp. For an old man, he had the grip of someone a third of his age. “What’s there to say, Tharn? I could call you arrogant, infuriating, stubborn, overly opinionated, callous... until the day I died. You’ve heard it all before. It wouldn’t make a difference to you, and it certainly wouldn’t make a difference to me. So let me go before we have a real problem. Got it?”   
He took a step closer, eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t explain why you take particular delight in gossiping about me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re obsessed.”   
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you trembled. “I don’t like thinking about you more than I have to.”   
That, at least, got his fingers to loosen. You wrenched free, stumbling your way through the dark to your tent, leaving him there. Or the general direction your tent was in the last time you remembered. It was hard to tell in the dark, but you managed to kick off your boots and crawl into bed.   
You tried to get comfortable. The scent of Abnur’s cologne lingered in your nose, making it difficult to focus on falling asleep.   
After what felt like a few hours, but was more likely a few minutes, someone stepped into the tent. You jolted awake, fingers stretching for a weapon out of instinct. For what felt like the hundredth time, you heard that hated male’s voice. He was swearing and threatening under his breath. At least you didn’t need that weapon you couldn’t find, though you remembered putting it under the bedroll.   
“Fuck, Tharn, can’t you leave something alone when it’s clearly not your business?”   
“You happen to be in my tent, so unless you plan on spending the night, I suggest you watch your tone and leave.”   
You blinked, trying to peer through the pitch black. Now that he mentioned it, that Imperial armor in the corner did not belong to you in the slightest. Nor the softest pillows you had laid on in a long time. And that would explain why after being away from him, you could still smell his cologne. “So I am.”   
“Don’t get me wrong, of course. As much as I enjoy a tispy, willing female as the next man, I try to make it a point to not share a bed with someone who has a penchant for getting on my nerves.”   
“Ah. That explains the several marriages.”   
“I thought you were leaving.”   
You let out a hum, pouting your lips as he lit a few candles with a wave of his hand. In the dim light and at this angle, he looked taller than ever. Maybe it was the lingering alcohol in your system, but you found yourself asking, “What if I don’t? Your bed is comfier than mine.”   
“Then I hope you enjoy being portaled into the coldest body of water I can think of at this time of night.”   
“I hate you.”   
“Say it again.”   
“I. Hate. You.”   
A large hand wrapped around your forearm and yanked you into a sitting position. Your breath caught in your throat. He knelt so that your faces were mere inches apart, and for a moment, you didn’t know if you wanted to slap him or kiss him. He made that decision for you when he pulled you out of his bed and onto the floor of the tent. But you couldn’t bring yourself to move.   
Tears stung your eyes when you realized his silent rejection. Whatever was left of your dignity helped you to gather your shoes and wander back into the unforgiving night. No need to stick around and make things worse.   
What a low point you must have reached, looking for closeness from Abnur Tharn. 

It was no wonder why you woke up in such a bad mood about ten hours later. The light hurt your eyes. Your mouth felt like it hadn’t touched a drop of water in a week. Your stomach either needed a ton of food right or to never see it again for the rest of your life.   
Perhaps worst of all was the shame that had settled into your veins, thrumming with each heartbeat. Last night was foolish for many reasons, and you didn’t particularly feel like examining the reasons behind the emotions that threatened to spill forth.   
You dragged yourself into a sitting position. At the foot of your bed, you saw a pitcher of water and a bowl of fruit, along with a small container of moonsugar. Next to it was a note.  
You groaned. It was far too soon for Khamira to ask you for help with winning over the people of Elsweyr. She favored seedy bars, inns, and taverns. It made sense, you supposed. She didn’t need to convince the richer families to fight her cause. The poor, the outcasts, the undesirables. Those were the people she needed to charm her way into their favor. After all, a queen with a divided kingdom was almost as bad as no kingdom whatsoever. She was your friend, however, and no matter how early she asked you to be awake, you would do it. Having food to wake up to was a definite benefit.   
Come to The Sugar Bowl tonight. Don’t be late.   
You frowned at the shortness of the note, but shrugged. Perhaps her hangover was one that could rival yours.   
In the meantime, you had no shortage of things to do. Your day was spent gathering intelligence on the latest dragon sightings, trying to allocate thinning resources between refuges and soldiers, and trying to determine the next move for the Dragonguard.   
It was when most of the soldiers had eaten dinner and were winding down for the night, you remembered the note. Though part of you wished to just head to the inn in what you were wearing, public image was everything right now. If not for you, then for Khamira. So you went to your tent (you made sure it was definitely yours this time) and scrubbed the dirt of the day off before putting on your favorite undergarments and the most formal thing you owned: red robes embroidered with golden beads.   
The inn’s tavern swelled with patrons, tossing whatever spare coin they could for the cheapest alcohol they could find that still tasted palatable. Why Khamira wanted to meet here was beyond you, but . After all, what better way to win the hearts of your people than to talk and share a drink?   
Your gaze landed on a familiar figure, though it wasn’t the one you were expecting. Tharn stood at the end of the bar, talking to the Khajiit serving drinks in a hushed voice. There was an exchange of coins and a key before the bartender left to fetch another round of drinks.   
He didn’t turn around, giving you a rare chance to truly look at him without wanting to punch him. Tonight he decided to forego the armor, leaving only a red tunic. It struck you as odd that he didn’t move from his position. He was unsociable at the best of times. For him to mingle amongst the common folk made you wonder if he was falling ill or something.   
Then the realization hit you: he was looking for some company.   
You flinched, tears stinging your eyes. Gods, what was wrong with you? You needed some fresh air, that would set you right, no doubt. It was crowded enough that you could slip away and no one would be the wiser. You’d just have to tell Khamira that you didn’t feel like drinking tonight, she would understand.   
There was a thud, then a shatter. You sat on the floor, blinking at the stain spreading along your clothes. The female Khajiit hissed and complained about the wasted drink, yet refused your offer to replace it with a wave. Before you could try to make a much more subtle exit, you found yourself being lifted by the elbows. You turned to thank whoever had offered their help. The words died in your throat. Of course he had seen your spectacle. Of course he had to witness yet another embarrassing moment you’d sooner forget, but he wouldn’t let you live it down.   
“Who knew you were capable of being a gentleman,” you muttered, patting dust off your legs.   
Abnur sneered. “Don’t be absurd. As an associate of Khamira’s -and one of mine, for that matter- it wouldn’t do for you to act like a clumsy fool in front of these people. Come now. Fortunately for you, I have just rented a room and can send for a new set of robes. Then you can return to your evening and let me return to mine.”   
His grip on your elbow didn’t leave room for debate. He almost dragged you up the stairs, letting go to unlock the door.   
“I can pay for my own clothing, thank you very much! Regardless of what you might think, I’m not helpless and I can take care of myself!”   
“Yes, I’m sure you can,” he responded, flipping through a small book listing the local businesses and their operating hours without looking at you. “However, I know what you consider to be fine clothing, and I must say I’ve seen far better taste from the most wild Orc huntswife.”   
You took a step back as if he had struck you. This would make it the second time in a twenty four hour period that he had you in a compromising position. You didn’t feel like sticking around to make it a third time.   
“Where do you think you’re going?”   
“I’d rather walk through all of Elsweyr naked than spend another minute with you!”   
He slammed the flat of his palm against the door, effectively holding it shut and prevented you from leaving. The frame rattled from the force. A shiver scattered down your spine. With his body in such close proximity to yours, you had a hard time meeting his gaze. “And I’d much rather you stay here.”   
Whatever shyness you had felt morphed into something harder, sharper. You shot your chin up. “Why? I don’t particularly want to meet whatever woman of the night you intended on bedding tonight, Tharn. Besides, I'm supposed to meet Khamira here for drinks and I’m already late when she specifically asked me to be on time. So if you will excuse me-”  
“You little fool. Khamira didn’t send you that note, I did!” he snapped. “I made sure you had food and water when you woke up, I wrote the note, I rented the room in hopes we could put aside th-this attraction because it is getting out of control! I can’t spend another day arguing with you without wanting to bed you!”   
Your jaw ached with how wide it hung.   
Maybe you had hit your head when that Khajiit had knocked into you.   
Because Abnur Tharn did not just admit he wanted to kiss you.   
“What?”   
He pressed closer, so close that you could feel the heat of his body. The gravity of the situation began to settle as he grasped your chin between this thumb and forefinger. Without thinking, your mouth curled into a pout. He was only too happy to take advantage of one of the few moments of compliance. His lips were dry, warm, and addicting. Once the kiss ended, you knew it wouldn’t be enough.   
So you stood on your toes, fingers digging into his shoulders, and gave him a deep, lingering kiss. You let out a shaky breath when you broke apart. For a moment there, you had forgotten to breathe. You would genuinely consider trading lungfuls of air for those.   
“I suggest taking off these robes now, before they wind up soiled beyond repair,” he said, husky and stern. If you hadn’t been eager to slip them off, you might have teased him about this being one of the rare times he hadn’t been yelling at you for one thing or another.   
If it had been anyone else in front of you, no doubt you would have felt modest and tried to hide as much of your body as possible. You knew he wanted you. The way his body tensed, the hunger in his eyes, the distance he kept. All signs of a man on the brink of loosening his control over his impulses and simply taking what he wanted.   
You were proven correct once the robes pooled on the floor. He was on you in a second, a rough palm at your breast, kneading and plucking at the hardened nipple. His other hand settled in your hair, keeping your head tilted so he could read your expressions.   
“How adorable. Do you always wear frivolous scraps of silk?” he tisked, glancing pointedly at your underwear. His fingertips dipped lower until they danced along the edge, dangerously close to discovering how aroused you were.   
“Only when I’m expecting to find some company for the evening.”   
With a growl of annoyance, he spun you away from the door and towards the bed. You fell backwards, legs splayed. Nothing but that scrap of silk resting on your hips hid you. There was nothing stopping him from drinking in the sight of you at his mercy, bathed in moonlight. And you delighted in it. Capturing his attention was a feat in and of itself, but having it undivided? It made you smug.   
Of course, that sense of pride crumpled as soon as he talked. What a dangerous man, toying with your emotions like the musicians downstairs played their instruments.   
“Were you hoping to get groped by some drunken idiot who has no idea what he’s doing? You put on these impractical garments just to impress someone who would sooner rip them off than appreciate the fine detail? In those ten minutes of awkward thrusts, you think they’d pay attention to your clothing and not on trying to get off? No, I think you chose to wear these because you had me in mind. Isn’t that right?”   
There it was again, that urge to argue. That attitude wouldn’t get you very far, and maybe enough was enough. So swallowing whatever was left of your pride, you sighed.   
“Must you always be insufferably right?”   
“Why, yes, as a matter of fact.”   
You shifted beneath him, aware of just how much control he had here. Part of you couldn’t resist and snuck a peek at his fingers lightly tracing the silk. Images flashed in your mind of him ripping it off and having his way with you. You cleared your throat. “Are you going to stare all night, Tharn?”   
He smirked, stroking your thigh. “Tempting, but no. I was simply wondering if you would share what exactly you had in mind when you put these on.” He plucked the silk at your hip before returning his hand to a safer, less enjoyable distance.   
“And then you’ll stop teasing?”   
“I will. Once you tell me the truth. ”   
You could’ve wailed in despair, but you settled on a quiet whine. How big was his ego that he had to hear your fantasies? Was it not enough that he had you with your legs spread, eager and waiting for his touch? Also, how were you supposed to think when he was tracing circles along your skin?   
Still you supposed it was a small price to pay if it meant some satisfaction. And judging by the way his pants strained, you would be quite satisfied by the end of the night.   
“I keep thinking about you choking me while you have me bent over,” you whispered.   
“Speak up.”   
You cleared your throat, mouth getting drier by the minute. “I want to make you so mad, you put me on your lap and spank me hard. Until I cry. Until I beg you to fuck me. I want you to make me scream and leave bruises and make me submit to you so that I can’t even think of being fucked by anyone else.”   
He was still save for the deep breaths he took. His grip on your thigh tightened with each confession. “Is that all?”   
“No.” You turned your face, wishing your stomach would stop twisting.   
“Tell me.” The timbre of his voice, deeper than you had ever heard it, the vibrations seeming to settle in the pit of your stomach. You could curse at how easily you had fallen into his bed, how he had undone the careful mask of resentment you had worn since you had met him. No more hiding.   
“Most of all, I want to be tied to your bed, kept there for whatever whims you have that day. I want to be left with your cum dripping out of me and needy for more.”  
Abnur didn’t respond. For a moment, you worried you had overshared and the fantasies had been too depraved for him. You hadn’t thought that was possible, but his silence didn’t reassure you.   
But his head dipped, teeth latching onto your neck. You yelped at the sensation, your hands jumping onto his biceps to anchor yourself against the onslaught of attention. When he pulled away, you didn’t need to look in the mirror to know he left a mark. It would be hell to hide, but if he was going to do it, he might as well go all the way. So you tilted your head back, offering more skin for him to claim. He did so with such predatory delight, you started to let out small whines.   
It was then he decided to slide his fingers into your underwear. Stroking, circling, teasing. The friction, as little as he gave, ignited sparks.   
As if you needed to be wetter for him. Though part of you suspected he wouldn’t be satisfied with simply turning you on. No, he wanted to be thorough with this. One long finger inserted itself inside your body. You hadn’t realized just how aroused you had become until he began moving.   
Then he added another finger, pumping them hard and deep. You tried to hold onto some semblance of modesty. You really did. It felt so good, though, that you soon found your hips rolling to meet each thrust. Even if he was in no hurry to get you off, all those moments of pent-up sexual tension had taken their toll. You knew that one wrong move and you would be crying his name out and making a mess of the sheets.   
“If you wanted to be my little fucktoy so badly, you should’ve asked,” he crooned, nipping at a nipple. You arched. His warm breath against your skin drove you crazy. “I would have been only too happy to oblige.”   
“Don’t say things you don’t mean. Now will you please fuck me?”   
He shook his head, making no effort to cease his fingers or remove his pants. “I will not have you spoil my fun by being impatient.” He applied pressure to your clit with his thumb. “I have a confession of my own: I have wondered what you looked like with your mind numb from pleasure. I have wondered what sounds you make when you are filled with cock. I wondered if your mouth was just as good at sucking me off as it was at irritating me.”   
“You should’ve asked,” you quipped, albeit breathless from the way he kept crooking his fingers. If the way you rolled your hips to meet each stroke was desperate, he thankfully didn’t mention it. Though you had no doubt that he would bring it up later.   
He joined another finger, making the total three. Your jaw went slack. Between the slick noises and the way he kept crooking his fingers, you wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. As another minute passed, the pressure of his thumb increased until it was almost painful.   
And then it happened. Your muscled clenched particularly hard as electricity crashed through your veins, undoubtedly coating his hand and making a mess. He continued well past the initial contractions. He didn’t slow his movements until your legs trembled with exhaustion.   
You sank into the mattress. Abnur stood, removing his clothes at long last. Although there had been late night imaginings of how he looked naked, it didn’t quite do him justice. You didn’t get much of a chance to look between the shadows and the fact he had gotten back on the bed.   
“Ride me.”   
This was the command of someone who was used to being obeyed without question. So despite the way your legs shook still and the fact your blood hadn’t returned to your head, you managed to climb onto his lap. You hovered over the head of his length, testing the thickness. One hand reached to stroke along your waist, the other rested on your throat. His thumb stroked your pulse point like it had your clit mere moments before, and you found the action to be awfully possessive, though you weren’t complaining.   
“Oh,” you gasped, sinking down inch by inch. Too slow for his liking. His fingers dug into your waist and pulled you all the way down, heedless of the almost painful stretch you felt as your body tried to accommodate his size. It didn’t help that you were still sensitive from those cruel fingers.   
“I don’t recall saying you could take your time,” he snapped.   
You gritted your teeth, bracing your hands on his shoulders. It took some effort, but once you got used to the feeling, you began to roll your hips. Then you started to raise and lower yourself. Then you were riding him.  
Your numb legs shook as you found a pace you hoped would please him. With each downward movement, you had to hold back a moan. As wondrous as his fingers had been, they could not compare to being impaled with his cock.   
Maybe you got too comfortable, maybe he somehow knew how to rile you up more than you thought possible. Regardless, he began to raise his hips to meet you mid-thrust.   
“Don’t,” you begged, halting your movements. Pleasure skittered down your spine, more wetness seeping from between your legs.   
“You dare tell me what to do?”   
A strangled sob escaped your lips. “Please, don’t, it feels too good,” you said. “I can’t handle it.”   
He chuckled at that, husky and smug. It seemed to encourage him. He repeated the action. Once. Twice. Three times. Each thrust felt deeper and deeper. So deep, it danced that thin line of pleasure and pain. He had a talent for keeping you on that line. The bed creaked beneath you as you redoubled your efforts to ride him. You refused to be outdone by the man, even if he had at least twice the experience you did.   
“I love the way you feel inside me,” you whimpered as your hips rocked harder. He loosed a growl, eyes flashing to your face. So you continued. “I think I could learn to crave this.”   
Though you couldn’t tell the difference between his usual arrogance and masculine pride, you did note the way he twitched inside you. Your victory was short-lived. He had you whimpering once more as he began to tug and pinch your nipples. It felt as if every nerve was on fire.   
You threw your head back, letting out a soft cry. “Oh, gods, I’m-I’m going to cum.”  
“Greedy little girl.” His hand found its way between your legs once more, tracing light circles. “What makes you think you have my permission?”   
The question almost causes you to pause, but you push through. Your thighs burned with the effort to make him feel good while holding back another release. “Please?” is all you could think to say. Anything more would take more energy than you have.   
You wanted more than just another orgasm. Though you wouldn’t complain if he spent the night wringing every ounce of pleasure he could from your body. You also wanted to make him cum. You wanted the satisfaction of saying you made the great Abnur Tharn fall apart.   
Except his fingers moved faster, the light circles turning firmer and more insistent. You bit back a curse. He wasn’t playing fair, and your body could only take so much before you couldn’t hold back a second wave of pleasure.   
Face buried in the crook of his neck, you cried out, moving your hips faster as you tried getting every bit of pleasure you could before you had to face the consequences of your actions.   
So distracted you were with your second release that you had not noticed he didn’t find his. You whimpered as he pulled out of you, his cock harder than ever, gleaming with your wetness. Though he looked thoroughly displeased, you couldn’t find the energy to feel worried.   
“I-I’m sorry,” you rushed out, going to sit up, when he pressed you back into the pillows.   
“Not yet. But you will be, I assure you,” he hissed. His tone took you aback. You didn’t think he would be that upset about it, though his movements had become jerked. As much as it worried you, it added a level of excitement. You had never gotten on his nerves when he could actually do something about it before now.   
Abnur stood up, a feat you hoped he wouldn’t ask you to repeat. With one hand hooked under each knee, he dragged you to the edge of the mattress and drove his cock back into you. Your body struggled to decide if it was delighted to be filled once again or if it was far too soon to be used. It didn’t matter, Abnur had settled on a rough pace and you had no choice but to watch his cock drive in and out of you. Every time your eyes closed, he brought his palm to your bare skin. Some hits were hard enough that you imagined he left prints in his wake.   
It took a minute for you to realize he had dropped one of your legs and settled his hand at the apex of your thighs. Your eyes widened. Not again. You couldn’t.   
He glared in response, keeping your gaze locked as he brought his fingers to your swollen clit. You trembled and squirmed. Try as you might to inch away to relieve some of the harsh friction, he would tighten his grip on your leg and fuck you harder. You didn’t think it was possible to feel so good while so tortured.  
“Keep your eyes on me.”   
Not wanting to find out what worse punishment he could conceive, you did as he demanded. It was somehow more exposing than when you had been naked and he had his clothes on still. Lust and anger had darkened his gaze, sparking a burst of pleasure in your stomach.   
So you watched, helpless, as he slammed his hips into yours. Chasing whatever high he had caught when you were riding him, Abnur focused on finding what pressure and speed caused you to clench around him tightest. And then he did that -and only that- despite the fact your legs were quaking to the point of clamping shut.   
A quiet sob escaped your lips as you felt a familiar sensation tightening your muscles. You didn’t think you had it in you at this point, but he drew out another orgasm. He swore as you clenched around him, gave a few thrusts more, and found his own release. Only when he had stopped twitching inside you did he stop his fingers.   
Your body collapsed into the mattress, and he followed not a moment after.   
Reality started to sink in as your bodies did into the sweat-soaked sheets, and through the fog that had made permanent residence in your brain, you knew that the professional relationship you had so carefully maintained before would no longer work.   
So you said the only thing that could come to mind at that moment.  
“I can’t feel my legs.”   
“Good. Then maybe you’ll think twice about disobeying me,” he remarked, pushing away a lock of hair that had plastered itself to your forehead. The small act of intimacy surprised you more than any of the events that had transpired that night. “Next time I tell you to ask for permission, you ask for permission.”   
You nodded, too shaky to find the usual vitriol that you answered him with. “Duly noted.”  
At that, he chuckled. “If all it took for you to listen was a night of passion, I would’ve done this sooner.”   
“So then I guess you’ll just have to do this more often.”   
“Yes,” he murmured, head inclining. “I suppose I will.”


End file.
